


electric in your blood

by nishtabel



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Plugs, Anal Sex, Animal Play, Bondage, Canon-Compliant, Dirty Talk, Impact Play, M/M, Mild Knifeplay, Negotiated kink, Post-War, Threats, Trans Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25539979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishtabel/pseuds/nishtabel
Summary: Dedue offers a moment’s respite, a gentle touch at Ashe’s ear, before he slips back into character. “I thought I told you,” he says with a growl, “not to come.”Ashe blinks up at him with wet, glassy eyes, silver lashes damp. “I couldn’t help it,” he whispers, and Dedue almost, almost pities him. “Please, I didn’t mean to, I just—I mean, you—”Dedue pulls out of him with a grunt, ignoring Ashe’s gasp of surprise before flipping him over onto his chest. He lands heavily, unbalanced without the use of his hands, and Dedue watches as his eyes flutter shut against the dirt of the cave.“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” Dedue snarls.Or: Ashe asks Dedue to hunt him.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 22
Kudos: 127





	electric in your blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raccooninvestigator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raccooninvestigator/gifts).



> thank you to [@raccoon_PI](https://twitter.com/raccoon_PI) for commissioning me to write this piece! i had so much fun with it, and i really hope you like the outcome. 💕
> 
> **A NOTE** : ashe is transmasc in this fic. the sex is mostly anal, but when referring to ashe's genitals, i use "cunt," "dick," and "cock."

Dedue knows where Ashe will be, but it’s the _illusion_ that counts. He’s spent years exploring these woods, mapped every tree and trail and man-made cave; he thinks he could probably navigate them blindfolded, should he need to. He knows, then, the little pool of springwater at the center of the forest, surrounded by wildflowers and fallen, mossy logs. It’s a mysterious place, almost magical, and it had taken several months to convince Ashe that it wasn’t haunted or housing an ancient, cursed weapon—but it is also _beautiful_ , and they have spent more than one weekend camped on its shores and drinking in the moonlight.

That is where Ashe will be. Or—where he _is_ , currently, waiting for Dedue to stumble upon his slender, naked body, slippery with water and glistening with sweat. The pond, so familiar to them both, will be the starting point of their hunt.

Ashe had been stingy with the details, of course, telling Dedue only to, “Practice your knotwork, hm?” According to Ashe, this scene was a lifelong fantasy of his, and Dedue wants to do it _right_ ; he’s borrowed books from Mercedes and practiced his lines, poring over knots and practicing on a too-eager Sylvain. He’d planned for weeks, weathering Mercie’s kind, if not teasing, laughter, accepting constructive criticism, _learning_ from her. He doesn’t think he’ll ever look at her the same way, but—it’ll work, he tells himself: He can be mean. He _will_ be mean.

For Ashe.

Dedue steps into the woods just after dawn, two hours after Ashe had kissed him good morning. His entry point is subtle enough, marked only by two stones and a single, green ribbon tied around the solid trunk of a nearby oak. Ashe will have entered from a different point, further to the north. “It’ll be more fun that way,” he’d said, eyes gleaming. “You’ll really have to hunt me down, then.”

By the time Dedue finds Ashe’s tracks, his shoulders are damp with dew, dripped from the leaves and still drizzling, lightly, from the sky. Although partially hidden by underbrush, the tracks are clear in the mud from last night’s rain, deeper on the balls of the feet and skidding to the right. They’re at least an hour old—which makes sense, given Ashe’s head start—but they’re clumsy, made by bare feet, and Dedue is reasonably sure that Ashe will tire long before he does.

It’s all part of the game.

He’d attached a healthy length of rope to his belt before he’d left, opposite the sharp blade of his favorite knife. The handle is worn by years of use, ivory imported from Almyra that conforms perfectly to the curve of his palm. These days, he uses it mostly for whittling, but he’s no stranger to hunting for food, and he’d sharpened it the night before.

A precaution, of course, as these woods are mostly safe, but something had glimmered in Ashe’s eyes when he’d mentioned it, a kind of hunger. He’d repeated it, curious, this time as a threat—but one that made Ashe _drip_ , wet and wanting, fluttering greedily around the hard shaft of Dedue’s cock. Dedue had flipped him, spread him, slammed into him and his tight, wet hole until Ashe had sobbed, begging and weeping and sniffling as his hands had fluttered above his thighs, struggling to keep his shaking legs folded tight against his chest.

The forest hangs around him in a hush, trees shimmering in the breeze as the mist begins to soften. It’s a good morning for a hunt; the birds sing from the canopy, loud and bright, and they pay Dedue little mind. He’s always been quiet enough, quick on his feet and good with a blade, but the joy that comes after a spring rain helps to bring attention away from his muffled footsteps.

As he follows the tracks—still hasty, still heavier on the right side—Dedue reminds himself not to whistle. He had spent days like this as a child, learning to track with his father and older sister. The birdsong had been different, of course, but it had been a joy to match. His father had whistled along with them, teaching the braver birds little songs to mimic, and Dedue had grinned from ear to ear as the birds sang back, always with a little twist. 

The birds are just as loud today, singing sweetly as Dedue picks his way over brush and roots and old, rotten logs. They sing of peace, and joy, and an instinctual lack of _care_ , so confident are they in their own survival—and Dedue had lived like that, once, picking clumsily after his father and sister and hoping that one day, somehow, he could fill their footsteps. He’d never gotten the chance, but he still thinks of them often, and hopes that what his mother taught him is true: that family visits on the wings of little birds, sweetly chirping and guiding his path.

He hears the pond before he sees it. It’s a steady ripple, low and soothing, like the lapping of low tide on a pebbled beach. They’d thought it _was_ magic, at first; the spring was clear and sweet, cold to the touch, and always gently beckoning. It came from an underground cave, of course—Annette had been quick to tell them that much, poised as she was over tea. Ashe had said “Oh,” and Dedue had said “ _Oh_ ,” and they’d both had their mouths open in surprise.

“Honestly,” Annette had said with a giggle, “I’m surprised you didn’t think of it first, Dedue.”

He had been, too.

They’d found the cave several weeks later, carved by millennia of wind and rain and running water into the bluff that bordered the northern part of the forest. It had taken a while to map; Ashe, despite all of his battle-won glory, was still afraid of the dark, and Dedue had explored most of it on his own. He had returned to Ashe bearing news of a thin underground stream and a total count of zero ghosts, and, he said, an entire path now marked with self-lighting torches. It broke off into a deeper system, much further down the main causeway, but the first cavern had been good enough for them: sheltered from the elements by a natural lip and guarded by a thick copse of trees, they’d spent several evenings gilded by the light of their fire, relaxing and reveling in the warmth of each other.

Dedue enters the clearing with a hushed breath, stepping carefully to keep his footfalls silent. Ashe is a sight where he stands before Dedue, several paces ahead and in the center of the small pool. His back is turned, shoulders dusted with freckles that make Dedue’s mouth water, and if they weren’t already deep into the game, Dedue would pounce _now_. Instead, he watches from the cover of a large rock, far enough from the pool that he’s unlikely to disturb the birds where they sing in the canopy that surrounds the cool spring.

He stays crouched and hidden until it begins to hurt his knees, until his thighs begin to burn with the effort of holding still. Ashe is putting on a show for him, Dedue knows: he washes with a practiced grace, fingers trailing glistening paths down his arms and hips and the silver-soft nape of his neck. His hair is wet just at the tips, curling at the edges and sticking to the slender column of his throat; Dedue feels his tongue sit swollen in his mouth, impatient and haughty where it longs to trace the beads of water where they shimmer down Ashe’s spine.

Following the path of the water, Dedue’s eyes catch and lock on the tuft of silver fur that sits between the freckled cheeks of Ashe’s ass. It hadn’t been there this morning—Dedue had checked, slipping blunt fingers between Ashe’s cheeks before he’d slipped out of bed with a self-satisfied smile. He’d still been tight, then, the pucker of Ashe’s hole warm against his thumb where Dedue had pressed _in_ , teasing him with a fleeting pressure.

The glistening fur is beautiful against Ashe’s pale skin, nearly the same color as his hair, and Dedue knows with a sudden certainty that Ashe had made this _himself_ , surely caught and skinned and tanned the rabbit’s hide until he’d fit it over—over—

Dedue longs to see the plug where it’s settled tight inside of Ashe’s hole, where he imagines it must keep him stretched wide and open and _full_. Ashe is a greedy little thing, always begging for his tongue, his fingers, just _one more_ —until Dedue shoves him full of his cock, and even then Ashe will whine, nonsensical and cock-drunk, for _more, more, please, more_ —

He imagines the length of this new plug, where it must sit and grind against his greedy inner walls; imagines how Ashe must have opened himself up without Dedue’s help, slender fingers nowhere near enough to satisfy, shaking as they’d scissored and stretched and searched. Dedue wonders if Ashe had brought himself off while working himself open, thumb flicking at the hardened nub of his dick before slowly, slowly easing down onto the plug.

Very carefully, very quietly, Dedue steps out from behind the rock. His boots are silent against the damp earth, footfalls silenced by last night’s rain. He knows better than to get within Ashe’s line of sight, but he aches for a closer look. His rabbit’s skin is blissfully unmarred, milky and soft and surely sweet to the taste, and—Dedue gets close enough to see the little puff of his nipples, swollen and pink where they stick out from his chest. The water must be cold; his nipples are hardened into little nubs, pebbled against the chill that lingers in the air.

Dedue must make a sound—he _must_ , no matter how hard he tries to be still—because Ashe turns with a sudden jerk, eyes wide and ears flopping against his head. They make eye contact for a single, tense moment, before Ashe splashes from the pool and darts into the woods.

He’s faster than Dedue expects—he hasn’t had to chase Ashe in years, and even then, he suspects that Ashe had purposely slowed his pace in order for Dedue to keep up. They’d run through streets and battlefields and old forts, Dedue in his plated armor and Ashe in his sniper’s gear, and—back then, it had been for necessity. They’d fought countless battles together, back to back, an unwavering trust that cleaved them together and forged their love in the fires of war. They stayed together, always, defending each other from friend and foe alike, and it hadn’t always been pretty, but they’d still returned _home_.

The difference now, Dedue thinks, is that they’re doing this for fun.

Ashe sprints through the trees, little more than a flash of pale skin and silver fur. It’s a struggle to keep up, especially because Dedue has significantly more bulk than his little rabbit; Ashe slips narrowly between trees and leaps over underbrush that Dedue couldn’t dream of clearing. Instead, he trusts his ears to tell him where Ashe is headed: Ashe may be fast, but he is not quiet.

Dedue corners him at the cave, crashing into Ashe with a grunt and pinning his little body against the dirt floor.

Ashe thrashes against the ground, head thrown back as his fists beat wildly at Dedue’s sides. Dedue barely feels them, blows glancing off without so much as a bruise, and when he pulls back it’s only to catch Ashe’s wrists in both hands and shove them into the dirt above his little rabbit ears.

“Down, brat,” Dedue spits, mustering as much contempt as he can. One pale brow cocks as he looks down at Ashe’s angry face, Ashe’s hips still bucking beneath Dedue’s spread thighs. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“Let me _go_ ,” says Ashe, flushed in the face and breathing hard from his run. His little chest heaves below Dedue’s spread thighs. “You have no right—”

Dedue laughs, flexing his grip on Ashe’s wrists. Makes it hurt, just a little—feels the joint pop below his hand. “I have every right, little rabbit,” he says, leaning down. Ashe’s eyes are dark, pupils blown, and there’s no tap at his wrist, not even one, so he continues. “What did you expect, hm? Putting your little body on display like that? How could I _resist_?” 

Ashe whimpers, lips parting with a loud smack. “You’re disgusting,” he says, in a tone that wavers and catches and means exactly the opposite. “I—I’m not a _toy_.”

Dedue’s smile is sharp, practiced, teeth blunt against his lower lip. “No,” he agrees with a growl, “you’re much better than that, little rabbit. And—I think you’ll like what I have planned, hm?”

It’s a threat, almost: Ashe knows what’s coming, has dictated almost every action—each slap and bite and growl, the hard press of Dedue’s thick cock against his own—but not the _order_ , and Dedue has specific orders to _surprise_.

“I would never,” Ashe spits, even as his body trembles beneath Dedue. “You’re vile, you sick motherf—”

Dedue slams a hand over Ashe’s mouth, both of Ashe’s wrists still held securely above his head. “ _Behave_ ,” Dedue warns, voice a growl. “I’ll do as I please, little rabbit. If you’re good, I might even let you come.” He feels teeth try to close down around his palm, but with nearly two decades of axe-wielding, Dedue’s calluses are far too thick for Ashe’s teeth to pierce. Instead, Dedue laughs. “You’re a wild one, aren’t you?”

Ashe stills with a huff, offering a single lick to Dedue’s palm in apology. The heat of it thrills him, arousal curling tight in his gut, and he wants _so badly_ to slip his fingers into Ashe’s wet hole _now_ , but—but. He still has a role to play. Sparing a single, withering glance at Ashe, Dedue removes his hand from his mouth; it’s not ideal, but he needs a free hand to grab at the rope on his belt. “Just sit still, you little—”

Ashe spits at him, all venom and fury, and Dedue doesn’t think twice before slapping him across his smirking, bratty face. The effect is immediate, Ashe’s eyes fluttering shut as a shaky moan spills from his mouth. Red blooms on his cheek, almost sure to bruise, but Dedue can’t find it in himself to be sorry when Ashe bucks timidly beneath him.

“Oh?” Dedue says, eyes bright. Ashe still looks angry, cheeks puffed and pink and absolutely _darling_ , but—when Dedue looks closer, he sees that those green eyes are glassy, lashes damp with tears. When Dedue meets his gaze, Ashe quickly looks away. “You like that, little rabbit? You want me to rough you up, hm?”

The answer is _yes_ , has always been _yes_ , but Dedue likes to hear him say it.

“Do your worst,” Ashe hisses, and _there’s_ his permission.

He works quickly, smoothly, shoving Ashe onto his belly and wrenching his wrists behind his back. Ashe fights him all the way, of _course_ he does, but by the time he’s got Ashe’s arms bound to his elbows, Ashe’s wriggling has taken on a decidedly more desperate air.

Dedue manhandles Ashe onto his back, watching as Ashe struggles to adjust to the uncomfortable press of rope against his spine. He can’t lie still for long, lips pursed in a tight pout, but his face is flushed and his pupils are blown, and Dedue can feel the heat radiating from between his legs as he teases at Ashe’s thighs.

Dedue doesn’t stop to admire his handiwork until he’s got a firm grip on Ashe’s ankles, the flex of his arms easily absorbing each half-hearted wriggle of Ashe’s legs. Even like this, Dedue thinks, Ashe is beautiful: his lips are pink and swollen from biting, both cheeks flushed a deep red from the inside of Dedue’s hand, and when Dedue glances down to Ashe’s naked chest, he sees the hard jut of his nipples, pebbled against the breeze that stirs between their bodies. Ashe’s little tits are perfect, sweet and gently swollen, and Dedue feels his mouth water at the thought of finally getting his teeth on Ashe’s chest.

Dedue frogties Ashe in the same way he’d practiced on Sylvain: quickly, efficiently, working with a steady hand and an eye for detail. Ashe stills, just for a moment, just long enough for Dedue to do his job and do it _well_ , and—after several moments of focused work, Ashe lies before him with his legs tied and spread, wet and dripping.

Dedue sets his sights, finally, on Ashe’s tail. He gives it an experimental tug, thrilling as Ashe shudders and whines at the stretch of it. It’s little more than a silver puff, barely enough to fill his hand, but it’s silky-soft and clearly crafted with care.

“So pretty,” he says, as he continues to tease at the fur. He doesn’t pull hard, doesn’t move it far, but each jostle sends shudders through Ashe’s body, and Dedue’s cock throbs each time Ashe’s little hole tightens around the plug. “Is this for me?”

Ashe whimpers, face turned clumsily to the side. “I—I.” A shaky breath, wet where it hisses between his lips. “Maybe,” he says, and, oh, it’s so _cute_ how he’s still trying to play indignant, so petulant. He’s perfect.

Dedue grins, wide enough to be dangerous. He takes two handfuls of Ashe’s ass and _squeezes_ , watching the flesh bulge between his fingers, before spreading him and watching the delicate fluttering of his hole. It looks hungry, like this—stretched and swollen around his little tail, twitching each time Dedue digs his fingers in just a little deeper. He gives the tail another experimental tug, watching as Ashe’s greedy little hole sucks the plug back in, shuddering with the effort.

With Ashe’s legs parted like this, frogtied above his shivering body, Dedue can see the dripping of his slit—wet and sweet, damp curls shivering with each clench of Ashe’s cunt. “I’m going to fuck you,” he says, startled to find that he _means_ it, that he wants it, that seeing Ashe like this has his blood simmering in his veins, thick and hot and throbbing with _want_. “I’m going to fuck you, little rabbit, and you’re going to take it.”

Ashe shivers, eyes big and round and glazed with arousal. “I’d like to see you try,” he says, dedicated to playing the unsuspecting victim. “I won’t just lie here and take it.”

Dedue grins as he begins pulling the plug from Ashe’s body. Ashe fights against it, just for a moment, body tightening around the thick, solid breadth of it before it slips from Ashe’s hole. Dedue sets it to the side, careful to mind the craftsmanship of it; Ashe worked hard on it, he’s sure, and they _will_ be using it again.

For a single, long moment, Dedue watches as Ashe’s hole gapes, pink and swollen, rim fluttering greedily. Ashe can take him like this, stretched for hours around a thick plug, but—Dedue slips two fingers in, anyway, groaning when Ashe’s body hungrily sucks him in.

“Greedily little rabbit,” Dedue murmurs, chastising. “It’s almost like you _want_ my cock, hm?”

Ashe colors, but says nothing.

Dedue smiles. “Very well.”

Pulling his fingers from Ashe’s hole, he lines himself up with a grunt, rubbing the head of his cock against Ashe’s slick entrance. He’s well-lubed, wet with oil and his own slick, and it doesn’t take much effort for Dedue to press _in_.

Ashe throws his head back and moans, high-pitched and between clenched teeth. The flush from his face has reached his shoulders, his chest, and he looks like he wants to move but he _can’t_ , legs tied and shoulders straining.

Dedue fucks Ashe like this: buried to the hilt in his ass, overwhelmed by heat and the fluttering desperation of Ashe’s hole. Dedue moves Ashe by the ties at his knees, pulling him forward and fucking in, _deeper_ , watching his cock disappear into the greedy clench of his body. Ashe shivers and sighs and _whines_ , head thrashing against the ground, back arched over his bound wrists. He is utterly, completely at Dedue’s mercy, and Dedue finds with a sudden reverence that he _loves it_.

“Don’t come,” Dedue warns, sinking two fingers unceremoniously into the wet clench of Ashe’s cunt. It flutters wildly around him, Ashe’s ass milking his cock in the same way his hole sucks greedily at his fingers. Dedue twists his fingers, curls them up, and Ashe thrashes beneath him, back arching from the ground as he throws his head back and wails. More slick gushes from between Dedue’s fingers, soaking silver curls and dripping onto Dedue’s cock, the throbbing of his balls. “ _Don’t come_ , little rabbit.”

“I—” Ashe spasms, mouth falling open as drool drips from his chin. “I. I can’t—”

Dedue adds a third finger and quirks his knuckles, driving hard against the roof of Ashe’s pelvis. Ashe shudders wildly, whole-body, eyes rolling back as he struggles to drive himself down onto Dedue’s cock, his thick fingers. He’s spread so wide around both, little body heaving with the effort, and Dedue almost wonders if he could press _down_ and feel himself filling Ashe up—

He pulls his fingers from Ashe’s cunt with a loud squelch, watching as it continues to clench around empty air. Ashe’s little dick is throbbing, swollen and hard and flushed a deep, dark red, and Dedue knows better than to tease, but he wants so desperately to get his hands, his mouth on it. Wants to press his tongue flat against the hot jut of it, to feel Ashe come apart in his mouth, against his hands and teeth. Ashe is so _close_ , mindlessly rutting against Dedue’s cock, and Dedue knows if he just—

Dedue’s thumb grazes Ashe’s cock, wet with slick and musk, and he feels Ashe’s orgasm building with an alarming wave. Ashe clenches tight around him, iron-hot, and it only takes two of Dedue’s fingers driven into Ashe’s cunt to make him fall apart.

Ashe sobs, wild and over-wrought; his voice is hoarse as he begs, mindless, a litany of _please, please, please_. His orgasm shocks through his entire body, shoulders tight as his throat strains, flushed from cheek to chest, and—it’s a wonder Dedue doesn’t follow him, balls tight against his body as Ashe milks him, fucks him, lets tears stream down his cheeks as he begs for Dedue’s cum.

Dedue offers a moment’s respite, a gentle touch at Ashe’s ear, before he slips back into character. “I thought I told you,” he says with a growl, “ _not to come_.”

Ashe blinks up at him with wet, glassy eyes, silver lashes damp. “I couldn’t help it,” he whispers, and Dedue almost, almost pities him. “Please, I didn’t mean to, I just—I mean, you—”

Dedue pulls out of him with a grunt, ignoring Ashe’s gasp of surprise before flipping him over onto his chest. He lands heavily, unbalanced without the use of his hands, and Dedue watches as his eyes flutter shut against the dirt of the cave.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” Dedue snarls, wrapping one fist firmly around Ashe’s wrists. He lines back up with a grunt, thankful that Ashe is still loose enough, still pliant enough to suck his aching cock back in. “You insufferable, selfish little _brat_.” He emphasizes each word with a hard thrust, pulling Ashe back against him by his grip on his wrists. His pace is punishing, _hard_ , and he watches Ashe’s face drag against the ground with every thrust. “Are you worth the trouble, little rabbit? Biting me, spitting at me, coming before I _tell you_ —”

Ashe cries out, mouth open and drooling against the dirt of the cave. His eyes are half-crossed, tears wet in his lashes, and Dedue brings his free hand down onto Ashe’s ass, reveling in the loud crack of flesh on flesh. Ashe wails, clenching wildly around Dedue’s thick cock, and Dedue thinks—he’s earned it.

“Hold still,” he says, voice full of warning. Ashe shudders, full-body, and does his best to obey even as his hips roll back against Dedue’s. Dedue grabs for his knife where it’s tied to his belt and unsheaths it, testing the weight of it in his hand. It’s sharp; it’ll cut the rope at Ashe’s wrists with no resistance, but he’ll need Ashe to stay _still_.

He presses the cold steel of the blade against Ashe’s forearm, a warning and a threat. Ashe _moans_ , stilling beneath Dedue’s hands and fluttering around Dedue’s cock. Ashe loves this—the danger of it, the thrill, the idea that he’s completely at Dedue’s mercy.

And he is—for the moment.

Dedue draws it out, even as his balls grow tighter against his body and his knees begin to ache. He traces the flat face of the knife down the curve of Ashe’s elbow, his welted forearm, the shivering of his fingers. Ashe breathes heavy beneath him but stays still, shoulders shaking with the strain, slick shining on his thighs.

When the blade finally slices through the rope at Ashe’s wrists, Ashe whimpers against the dirt. His shoulders pop where they swivel awkwardly, palms trembling as they reach for the ground.

“Be good,” Dedue says, masking the concern in his voice with a harsh thrust. Ashe whines, propping himself up with one hand as the other snakes below his body. Dedue sheaths the knife at his belt again, careful to fully mask the blade, before settling warm hands on Ashe’s hips again. He offers a single, rolling thrust as he says, “Don’t come until I tell you to. Don’t come until I’ve pumped you full, little rabbit.”

Even with Ashe’s face half-turned from him, Dedue can see the fluttering of Ashe’s pale lashes, the wet parting of his lips. Shakily, brokenly, he nods. “Yes,” Ashe says, voice hoarse. Dedue watches his tongue flit between his lips, pink and soft. “Yes. Please. I—I’ll be good.”

Dedue huffs, makes it clear he doesn’t believe it. “You’ll have to show me, little rabbit,” he says, squeezing the flesh below his fingers. “Make me come, and I’ll reward you.” Then, an idea: “Fuck yourself on my cock.” Ashe whines, long and low, as Dedue stills his hips. He’ll stay like this, still and hard and half-swallowed by Ashe’s filthy hole, until Ashe does the work himself.

“I _can’t_ ,” Ashe sobs, twitching against the dirt. He’s an excellent actor, Dedue thinks fondly. “Please, I—I’m so weak, I—”

Dedue snarls, bringing his open palm down across the meat of Ashe’s ass. Ashe cries out, hips bucking involuntarily, driving forward until Dedue’s cock almost slips from his hole. “Try again, little rabbit.”

Ashe sniffles loudly, _theatrically_ , before feebly pressing himself back onto Dedue’s cock. Dedue watches himself disappear into Ashe’s body, the wet-hot clench of it, inch by inch until—until Ashe flutters around him, rim puffy and swollen, and sinks to the hilt.

“Again,” says Dedue, offering a light smack against Ashe’s other cheek. “Fuck yourself, little rabbit. Let me see.”

When Ashe begins to move, striking up a weak, stuttering rhythm, Dedue groans and palms the thick, flushed cheeks, thumbs stroking idly at Ashe’s taint. It makes Ashe moan, loud and wet, and so Dedue _spreads_ him, thumbs slippery with the dripping wet of Ashe’s cunt. Ashe’s thighs are slick with it, shiny and slippery where they tremble with the effort of taking Dedue’s cock.

Dedue keeps him like that, ass spread and hole bared, as Ashe grows more confident, more desperate. His ass slaps wetly against Dedue’s thighs, clumsy and loud, and Dedue begins to meet him halfway—offers a little snapping of his hips, aiming to hit deep and solid within Ashe’s body. Ashe moans, fingers digging into the dirt, and Dedue feels his own orgasm building in the low, molten heat of his gut.

“Make me come, little rabbit,” he says, voice hoarse and gruff. “Make it good, little rabbit, tell me you want it.”

“I—I want it,” Ashe stutters, pressing back against him with increasing urgency. “Please, I—come in me, please—”

Dedue’s orgasm tears through his body with a frightening roar, heart pumping loudly in his ears as he grabs Ashe’s hips and pulls him _up_ , pulls him _in_ , buries himself so deep in Ashe’s ass that he swears he’ll feel it for days. Vaguely, he sees Ashe’s hand working between his legs; his little rabbit comes again with a shout, high-pitched and filthy.

They breathe together, slowly, softly. Ashe rides the aftershocks of Dedue’s orgasm, shuddering each time Dedue’s cock twitches inside of him. It’s a valiant effort, Dedue thinks; Ashe’s knees must ache, his face scraped against the ground, his body so stretched and full that Dedue may be able to warm his cock in Ashe’s perfect body the following morning. He wants to keep him like this: stuffed and used, fucked stupid, with his silken rabbit ears lopsided on his head.

Dedue knows he can’t, however, and it’s with a sigh that he begins to pull himself from Ashe’s spent body. He moves slowly, carefully, one hand soothing against Ashe’s lower back while the other one pets his thigh. “You were perfect, Ashe,” he says, voice soft and sweet. He means it, whole-heartedly, and he needs Ashe to believe him.

Ashe grunts, throat working against a swallow. He makes a small sound when Dedue’s cock finally slides from his body, almost petulant, but otherwise stays where he is.

Dedue carefully turns Ashe onto his back, pressing a kiss to his forehead before turning his attention to Ashe’s bound legs. They twitch limply when he touches him, massaging at thigh and calf, before he reaches for his knife. “I’m going to untie you,” he says. “The knife will be cold, alright?”

Ashe grunts again, shimmying against the ground. A go-ahead, then.

Dedue is careful as he cuts the rope loose, fingers nimble and gentle as they work the blood back into Ashe’s legs. He hadn’t been bound for long, but it had been tight, and with Ashe’s full weight on his legs—

“How are you feeling, little one?” Dedue asks, moving to massage the arch of Ashe’s foot. “Are you still with me?”

Ashe opens his mouth to speak, lips pink and sweet. Slowly, his eyes blink open. “’m with you,” he says, voice quiet. “Sleepy.” Still, he presses his foot further into Dedue’s grasp, offering a small smile. “Know you’ll take care of me, though.”

Dedue’s chest swells with warmth, bright and hot where it settles around his heart. He nuzzles Ashe’s calf, his ankle, before kissing the arch of his foot. “Always,” he promises.

Ashe stays pliant and easy as Dedue cleans him, pets him, holds him; he goes easily into the bedroll, only whining once Dedue’s hands disappear from his body.

“I’ll be back in a moment, little one,” Dedue promises, laughing when Ashe tugs him down for a kiss. “I have to start our fire. You’re going to be hungry soon.”

“No,” Ashe pouts. “You filled me up plenty, Dedue.”

Despite the act they’d just put on—despite Dedue’s own words, the way he’d fucked Ashe as _prey_ —Ashe’s words bring a blush to his cheeks. “You’ll need more than that,” he says, unable to meet Ashe’s gaze. He’s smiling, now, coming back to himself, and Dedue is happy to see it. “You’re going to be begging me for a sweetmeat pie by noon.”

Ashe shrugs. “Should have thought to prepare one earlier, then,” he says. “Not my fault you didn’t come prepared.” He does release him, though, and so Dedue moves to set up camp.

By the time Ashe transitions from pleasantly sleepy to ravenously hungry, Dedue has their meal prepared. They dig in with a singular passion, both near-starving, and so it’s through hunger-clouded ears that Dedue hears Ashe speak.

“Hm?” he asks, pausing from his food. His hands and face are both a mess.

“I said,” Ashe says with a blush, “thank you. For—you know.” He gestures. “This.”

Dedue smiles, broad and messy and unthinking of the meat stuck between his teeth. “Of course,” he says, warm. “It was my pleasure, Ashe.” Then, teasing: “My little rabbit.”

Ashe flushes deeper, darker, face a solid shade of pink. “Yes,” he agrees, somewhat shyly. “Yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> i have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/nishtabel).


End file.
